


Out of the Fire

by mayinwinter



Series: It Is Time We Meet Again [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Badass Hannibal, Badass Will, Canon Typical Violence, Implied Feelings, M/M, Post-everything, Swearing, Will glimpses into Hannibal's mind, but anger seems to trump them for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:16:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayinwinter/pseuds/mayinwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pervasive smoke and the gas fumes made him light-headed, burned his eyes, but there were more urgent problems to keep him busy. And far more dangerous, Will Graham  knew well, as he continued to grapple with Hannibal Lecter, the fucking horror of his life, entangled with him in a punch and shove fight on the dusty floor.</p><p> </p><p>It's been years since they last saw each other, and this is now, as Doctor Lecter wanders around a free man, and one ex-FBI agent decides to go after him. A moment in the chase. Post-everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Fire

The pervasive smoke and the gas fumes made him light-headed, burned his eyes, but there were more urgent problems to keep him busy. And far more dangerous, Will Graham knew well, as he continued to grapple with Hannibal Lecter, the fucking horror of his life, entangled with him in a punch and shove fight on the dusty floor.

Will’s illegal gun was lost somewhere behind him, out of bullets and knocked from his grasp by the doctor himself, who had nothing but what Will guessed was a graze on his left arm. Back in his scattered train of thoughts was a childish resentment at not getting one single shot in the bastard, even if in all these years he had more than improved his aim. But even in a closed space Lecter was efficient in his foot work, in his distractions and his goddamned ability to look the gun barrel head on and use that closeness to tackle Will down.

Will was almost seething, losing some of his control over his anger and indignation, but finally managing to disengage Lecter’s grip on his wrist, clamping that free hand on the long neck of the still-at-large and most-wanted-lister criminal, right over the once pristine and now sullied white collar.

“Would it feel –ah- more liberating, Will, to do the deed with- with your hands and not your black market gun?” 

There was a slight strain in Lecter’s voice, as Will all but leaned over him with all the intentions of choking the doctor before the smoke of the burning house would do the same to both. And still, the voice was almost affable, and Lecter’s eyes –if bright with the the sting of the fumes- were placid on Will’s marked face. 

Don’t talk to him, don’t talk to him. 

“As long as you’re dead” –Will started on a snarl, coughed and almost lost his grip when Lecter brought one knee up to knock him aside, but Will took the hit in stride, adrenaline working wonders, and barreled down with all his weight, pinning the older man again- “As long as you’re dead, doc- doctor, I think I would feel great w-with whatever method it takes”. 

A crash sounded somewhere to their left, glass clattering, plywood churning as the place started to collapse, the empty house at the end of the road that had acted as pit stop in the impromptu chase through this quiet neighborhood of Rocha.

“So much emotion, Will” –Lecter wheezed out, his right hand fighting to disentangle the younger man’s hold on his neck, his left hand clawing at Will’s shoulders, looking for a hold on the loose jacket and also pushing up. Higher position would inhale the most smoke, would pass out first –“It’s very”- voice thinning- “very becoming on you”. 

Will was right up on his face, leaning down completely, managing not to snarl anymore but voice gruff and as firm as possible – “I am nothing of your making. I feel, I have always felt. I knew my dark before. Fuck you, I killed before your games and lies. You were there but you never made me do it. You can’t make or unmake me. Fuck you”. 

It was difficult to tell, with the strain and the gray and the peripheral glint of the flames, but it was possible Lecter was smiling. 

Will blinked rapidly, feeling enormous and wild and baited. He was smiling, indeed, the damned monster.

“But Will” –and Hannibal’s hands let go of both his holds, raising up onto his elbows and into Will’s grasp with a speed and a strength that were riveting, effectively lessening the pressure of the choke on his neck by sheer surprise- “Here you are, Will, not in Florida with your bottles of beer and self-pity. Here on your own, after me. It’s touching”. 

Will knew he should have head-butted him then, broken his nose and filled his air passage with blood, have him lying there with precious seconds to decide how to kill him before the fire got them both. Or to drag him out and kill him somewhere else. Give him to the police? Not the locals, no. The FBI? Fuck them all. Who could put away Lecter when he had escaped twice and made a pastime of ensnaring law force to his will? 

But the words escaped him. Everything escaped on the face of his once-paddle and houseboat and fort. Will did not back down, stayed there fixed on the lethal eye contact and the closeness of their rival mouths.

“You know nothing of pity, or hating yourself to the point of vomit and losing the grasp on reality. Nothing about finally deciding to torch yourself down if needed to set things right. What value has that to you? You are cold inside. There’s nothing to touch in you but your sick sense of amusement and your stupid fixation on manners, your fucking empty manners, Hannibal, you- you- fucking empty thing”. 

Lecter’s eyes flickered, and it was a light inside and not a trick of their surroundings. Will did not close his eyes on time, did not break the stare soon enough. 

He fell through the rabbit hole, and there was no rabbit and no wonder world within. 

It was a vertiginous feeling, the opening of the veil, and Will was out of practice and his pendulum out of synch. It was dark around him, mostly, with flashes of white, and then red on white, and it was blood on the virgin snow, and there were screams and then a void so powerful it was deafening. And his stomach hurt and his body ached and claws were tearing through him, and someone was yanking his lungs out of his chest. No no no, someone was tearing a small hand from his numb fingers. His mouth tasted like vomit, yes, and reality was non existent. And his rage ignited suddenly when he remembered a distant and endearing beloved, and then that rage and that hunger cooled down, ever present but shackled, painted over, locked under key with despised hurt and contempt. 

Will was lying on the ground, coughing non stop, eyes watering, his arms empty of his former prey. His head pounded and he felt as he had torn through reentry from outer space, singed and trashed. He wasn’t making much sense, but he still had the presence of mind to keep his impaired sight on the man beside him.

Hannibal Lecter was kneeling above him, eyes once again a tranquil maroon. He leaned down, unafraid of the struggling Will. 

Surprisingly, though, this time out of all the other terrible times, Lecter’s voice was shaking uncontrollably.

“I feel, Will, I have always felt. I made and unmade me. It’s true that love can destroy us, but I won’t blame love for it. My destruction is mine, and your obsession is yours. Thus we accept our lives and our ends”.

Around them, the roof was coming down in debris, the ten minutes of their rapid interactions enough to put an end to the building. Will could not get enough air to his lungs, and his hearing was diminishing. He wanted to spit on Lecter’s looming face, one last defiance in the face of the confusing exchange of emotions that had happened between them, but he was fading fast.

His last thought before his mind clouded completely was, hilariously, if this time Lecter would hold true to his word and eat his smoked heart. 

A pink wine, he hoped, would serve nicely with it. He had fond recollections of pink wine. That glass Hannibal had poured for him in the psychiatrist’s office, their first shared tacit toast. Fresh and slightly bubbly. Like air with aroma and taste, and easy semi-smiles and just a sliver of light through the curtains. 

Fresh air and sun light…

Air and light…

Air! Air! 

Will gasped, frenetically, desperate for air and coughing acid spittle and his arms flailing outwards. 

He was lying flat on his back, clear blessed air dizzying him with relief, sun light pouring around. Will brought his hands up, slight tremors subsiding, fingers rubbing his eyes and distantly, he felt the heat leaving his clothes, stinging his skin all over.

He could not think in more than spurs and impressions, until another cough, muffled, alerted him of company.

Will would have cursed and laughed and screamed if he had had the energy. Of course it was him.

Lecter was sitting just a couple of steps away, evidently less affected and more mindful of their surroundings, but still sitting down and catching his breath, face and neck bruised. His simple casual suit was covered in ashes, and there were debris in his graying blond hair. The left sleeve was torn through with dried blood stains, and in the one second that the older man turned for a quick look around –confirming no people were yet coming over to see the abandoned house falling apart- Will saw his back, the fabric of his clothes burned almost through, and torn in places. 

What had the stupid bastard done, carried him bridal style out of the house? Did he not know that you’re supposed to drag people out of burning structures? If only the roof had fallen on top of them both, how nice and easy that would have been.

Lecter’s sight returned to Will, and it might have seemed like his first impulse was to come closer, but he had stayed himself. Will did not know if his medical training made appearances like this so often, but then again, the man had had plenty of victims at his hands so it probably wasn’t any impulse of the medical ilk. More like a curiosity to confirm his kill, perhaps.

But Will was very much alive and very much aware. A saying came to mind, then. Out of the fire and into the frying pan…or was it backwards? It made more sense in this manner with Lecter, anyway. Will coughed once more, the better to disguise his inappropriate chuckle.

“So” –Will rasped out, trying to sit up and barely managing it- “Who was it, that you lost and decided you were enough of a monster after that, you might as well do whatever you wanted. I’m curious now”. 

The other man blinked at him, his neutral and calming counselor face slowly breaking into his very small and pleased smile. 

Will knew he should have never said a word to this man again. He just knew it, but he was never, ever able to help himself. Damn it. 

“Dear Will” –Lecter intoned, his amusement a sweet one- “You must leave me some of my intimacies. You know well I am a private man, even if I did extend you the invitation to look for a moment. It was very satisfying”- and here he stood up, not as gracefully as he seemed to intent, but now on his feet and ready to walk out- “seeing you swallow that invitation whole, obsession and curiosity unchecked. You are always afraid to look, Will, but you always do it. It’s most brave of you”.

Will fought the urge to sneer at Lecter’s bow of the head, his complementary words. It was evident the man was bemused and attracted again, more games on the horizon and more mental chess to play with him. 

“Our destruction and our obsession both, doctor. You are not exempt.” –Will raised his chin, still sitting down but never below Lecter, never consenting to be looked at from above. Even grounds for them. –“Don’t think that I wouldn’t shot you now, if I had a gun with me. You’re the one letting me live, here”.

The standing man inclined his head again, conceding the point with casual acceptance. 

“I am very much aware that our fondness for each other does not run the same avenues, Will” –and Lecter continued, ignoring Will’s snort- “as I am also aware that you are waiting for me to take a step away to throw yourself at me. Know beforehand; though, that I fear one of your knees is not in the best conditions. Just swollen, probably, but I doubt your legs will hold you up just now.”

Will pushed himself up in one swift movement, all remaining energy fueling his stance, but his right leg folded under him after half a step, and he went down on his left knee and scraped palms over the grassy backyard. 

“Also” –the doctor carried on conversationally, although he was already taking some steps back- “I happen to have a second automobile close at hand, as the first one is registered and not of use anymore. And a motorbike, as well. But in this state of dress, I am remiss to take the motorbike with me. I am tempted to leave the keys with you, though, so you don’t have to stay much longer here and discuss with the strict Uruguayan authorities the issue of the burning house” –and Will sat up on his haunches, looking at the terribly polite bastard. And how was Will going to ride a bike with a busted knee anyway?

Lecter stopped on his retreating steps, turned his head fully to address the younger man again.

“It is unfortunate that there is so much violence in our interactions now, William. But make no mistake, that I’ll be very glad to see you again. I would dare to leave you with a goodbye kiss, if not for the haste with which I must depart, and the unsureness of who would bite the other first. Be well, Will, and be brave”. 

Will pressed his lips together in silence, refusing to acknowledge the parting words and the syrupy good wishes, glaring at Lecter as he made his way out of the backyard and around the house, out of view and range. He was not going to say goodbye. He was not going to say we’ll see each other soon. He was not going to make threats. 

But his last glimpse of the criminal proved the man had once again his tender micro-smile on, so Will might as well have said anything he pleased, as his eyes always did the talk for him.

Fleetingly, Will wondered for the tenth time why he had stopped wearing his glasses since his search for Lecter took him out of the States the year before. In exhaustion, he made to sit more comfortably, only to curse under his breath and wrap one hand around his knee. Definitely swollen like a melon, but not such paralyzing pain as to suspect something majorly wrong. If he tied a cloth around it, with enough pressure and bearing the pain, he could move.

In some minutes, at least.

There was no sound of approaching sirens or patrols yet, but he would rather not chance it.

In front of him, some six steps ahead, a silver key and a trademark key-ring rested on the grass.

The leather key-ring was engraved with the initials H.L. 

\----

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen the prompt so many times, about encounters between Will and Hannibal after the events of the books. It's the world where Will is scarred and alone, and Lecter is free and alone; and they cross paths again. Or better put, where Will goes after him. And there are so many wonderful pieces about this, but I wanted to try my hand at it, however poorly. 
> 
> This is very love-hate, I believe, although Will only seems to accept the hating side. His musings betray him sometimes, though, and I bet he chews himself for it. Also, how did this not come out in Lecter's perspective? That was my idea at the beginning, but I guess it didn't happen. 
> 
> And yes, there is a bike cameo, or an attempt of.


End file.
